


The Bladesmith

by SwordDraconis113



Category: Original Work
Genre: Canon Queer Character of Color, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, M/M, Magic, Magic vs Mundane, Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Trans Male Character, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 04:42:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6551488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwordDraconis113/pseuds/SwordDraconis113
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezarae decided young that she was going to join the army: save people, go to war, and protect villages against the very troll that almost killed her and her brother. However, when the Allied Kingdoms Council sets out to trial her for dangerous use of magic, all her dreams are crushed in a single blow.</p><p>Meanwhile, believing his older sister taken from him, Rabastian sets out to fulfil her dream, and joins the army, unknowing that the path it sets him on may lead to the destruction of peace between the Allied Kingdoms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bladesmith

**Author's Note:**

> Please, please, please feel fear to critique it with everything you have. Rip into it. Don't hold back. Thank you. Otherwise, please enjoy.

P R O L O G U E

Maurice lifted his daughter onto his shoulders, helping her to light the lanterns that strung from one house to the next. His daughter touched the wick of each candle in their glass casing, reaching out as far as she could before he moved her over to the next set, tied in a row.

Most of the casings were of a golden glass, though green and red also hung loosely amongst them, many of them chipped from years of use. Though, there in the middle, was only a singular blue, oval shaped lantern, dangling lower than any of the others. It had been his when he joined the family only last harvest.

They weren’t the only family hanging out the harvest lanterns. The baker’s oldest son, newly a man, was lighting his family’s in front of them. Ben was now tall enough to reach his string of lanterns without the aide of a step. Maurice could remember only last harvest, watching the boy light the lanterns on the tip of his toes, with his arms stretched high above as his mother watched over him carefully.

Now, the village was alight, ready to twinkle like the stars once the sun set below the horizon.

“All done!” Rae stated, twisting in her father’s arms to look down at him proudly. The long, thin stick she’d used to light the glass lanterns, smoked where she’d blown out the flame.

“You did well!” Maurice said, placing her down onto the earth. “You didn’t even have to relight the flame.”

“I was careful,” she said proudly, lifting up her chin to nod sharply at him. The thick crop of dark hair, having been lopped off above her chin, bounced with her.

“That you did,” Maurice said, his heart glowing with warmth as he crouched down before her. Reaching out with his calloused thumb, he wiped off the smudge of charcoal on her cheek. “You did very well. Your mother will be proud when you tell her.”

A smile cut over her face and Rae twisted in the blue dress she wore, squirming with the bubbled excitement. “Can I go play now?” she asked.

“Go find Rebby and then you can play,” he said, ruffling her hair before standing up again. Without needing to be told twice, Rae ran off, kicking dust into the air.

Maurice’s brow pulled as he watched his daughter laugh, running towards the river near the woods. She, too, had grown since he’d known her, already big enough to help her mother at the forge, and speaking fast enough that his head spun to understand how so much time could have passed him.

He’d come into the family when Ezarae was only three years of age, her blood father having died out hunting in a winter, having only known Rae a year. In the following winter, Maurice visited by chance, intending to stay only a few nights in the village before leaving. He’d helped Rae’s mother, Santiena, with duties around the house in return for food and board.

Now, two years living in the village after six months of travelling, Maurice had begun to find his roots growing deeper than he could have imagined.

He also had a blood child. A young, walking and talking tiny child, with brown skin and dark eyes that mirrored his own. He loved Rae no more or less than he did for his own blood child, Rebby, and watching them both grow from being tiny fragile things to walking and talking people, frightened him as much as it made him proud.

Looking up to the lanterns, Maurice’s fingers touched the singular blue one, tied to the string of other lanterns. He’d gone to Vincentia trading post, trading a glassblower some Purviesion silk for it. The silk itself was as common to Purviesentia as trees to a forest, but trading between countries wasn’t safe or plentiful with the civil war happening.

“Lost in thought, are you?”

Maurice turned to face his wife, Sena. She was holding a wicker basket of flowers for the festival on her elbow, and a dish of roasted vegetables. “Bluebells?” he questioned, looking down at the dainty flower, covering over daisies and some golden, yellow flower whose name he couldn’t remember.

“Last of the season,” Sena said. Her eyes then went to the lanterns behind him, a smile breaking over her face. “She did well.”

“That she did.”

Sena’s face softened as she leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Come, there’s things still to do.”

As the sun set below Giant’s Teeth mountain range, Maurice watched as families laid out the meals upon the set out tables; the winter fire, having been lit earlier to light the lanterns, sat brightly in its metal holdings. It had been placed high on the podium before the tables and different members of the family came by, placing kindling into the fire to keep it aflame and healthy.

“Who took the winter fire this year?” Maurice asked, looking to his wife. He knew the last elder had been Bran, but with his death, the fire would go to the next elder of the village.

“Rochelle’s family,” Sena answered with ease. “They live on the outskirts, so Bran’s family will help to take it over to them.” Sena had just finished placing the roasted vegetables onto the table, having used the spices Maurice brought home from his last travels to Aidah. He had chosen them from their smells. They’d been like fire’s warmth on his tongue, the powdered colours a rich sunburnt red and gold. With the end of harvest, he’d wanted the spice’s taste and smell to resemble summer, hoping it would inspire a fair winter, rather than a cruel one.

As the light turned indigo, and the stars began to come out one-by-one, Many of the older members of the village had turned out their food. Children, too, began to come in, drawn in by the smell. Just as Maurice prepared to go and find his own two children, Nikki, the best the town had in offer of a healer, came with the remaining gabbling children.

His two own came hand-in-hand, walking over to stand between their mother and himself. His youngest reaching up with chubby fingers to grab at his pants leg and wobbly stand beside him. Each village had their own set of traditions for the harvest festival, and his home was no different. Bigger villages and cities had long speeches, bellowed over for the crowds to listen, but here, the speeches were spoken briefly to the village crowd surrounding the laid out tables, hands braced in front of themselves. They sat together, cooked for each other, passing food and drinks up and down the table to whom ever needed it.

But the most enjoyable part of it all was that the speeches were _brief_.

Rochelle stood towards the far right with her family. “Is everyone here now?” she asked, looking out towards them. People murmured, counting their families, each one nodding to themselves. “Good, good, my eyesight’s gone these years. My nose however, isn’t. I can smell the food, and as is the case every year, it smells delicious. I look forward to the last of harvest.”

A murmur passed of agreement. “Now, with the fire having been passed to our village, to guide us through winter, I hope that I survive this winter, so I may also be the one to extinguish it in the coming seasons, but in this time, we remember that all life must end for new ones to begin, and like the fire trees, our seeds will hopefully grow into trees as tall as we had once been. Already, I see young Tarra having flourished, bright with her father’s light guiding her.”

Across the table, Tarra, a middle-aged, dark haired woman, smiled softly, her eyes wet as her hand’s shook in front of her. Softly, Rochelle nodded to her again.

“We are here, as we are every year to remember all those who have passed in the village before us, to drink and eat in their memory, speak of those we know and love, and in their love, we hope they will guide warmth into the winter with their spirit’s memory, reminding us all, that we too shall return to Mother, and find forgiveness. _Anaine._ ”

“ _Anaine_ ,” the village murmured.

All at once, the village began to clamour towards the tables, handing food and drinks around, with wine been given first to the eldest, and down to the youngest adult, Ben, whom had just turned eleven only a few days prior.

“Did you have fun playing?” Sena asked her two children, as they nestled themselves between her and Maurice.

“Yes. I captured the princess again and again and again,” Rae replied, her lips parted wide to show off her missing front tooth. “Then they made _me_ a princess.” She frowned, pouting her lip. “they lost and I was forced to marry the king.”

“Oh no, what a tragedy.”

“It was!” she said with an exasperated sigh, “Annabelle makes a terrible king and she _only_ made me a princess because she hated losing but it’s her own fault for using all of her knights to surround the princess.”

Maurice blinked, looking over to his wife before glancing down at his oldest child. There were many moments like this where he found himself unable to remember being a child. Had he too once had the ability to speak in a single breath at such a speed that few understood what had been said? Had he played bizarre games of strategy? Certainly not, in his time, games were simpler.

Before him, Rae stared up with wide, golden eyes, waiting for a response to something he wasn’t sure he understood. “And…that’s bad?” he asked.

“Yes! It is _stupid_ because all you have to do then it have a diversion that looks like a massive attack is about to be happening and lead enough away that two others can come up and kill the remaining knights and bring back the princess!”

“And how do you…kill the knights?”

“Easily. You just get up behind them and tap them on the head or neck or back and go DEAD!”

Half of the village seemed to whip their head to look at Rae, eyebrows raising as the young girl sunk low at the table. Still, she talked adamantly about the game and how her team had managed to fail because they tried to do the same thing she had, but _wrongly_ of course.

Rae’s infliction on the word _wrong,_ did trouble him. Was his daughter slowly being shaped by the game into being a controlling leader that no one would listen to?

“Come,” Sena spoke, breaking Maurice’s mind away from his worrying thoughts, “Rae, why don’t you pass the carrots down the table and speak about your grandfather to your sister.”

Maurice listened as his oldest child spoke up about her memories of her grandfather, the way he smelt strange, but had a nice laugh and always a funny story when she went to bed. Then she spoke on about her grandmother and the old stories she used to tell about the Northern War.

Maurice’s father had been drafted into the Northern War in the last year. Eagerly, his eldest daughter listened as he told her about his father’s training, how he been given only six months training before shoved into battle, only for his first attack to be stopped as Ysamah’s great city, Allsah was annihilated by the Ice Nation, ending the war.

“Are you parents still alive?” she asked.

“My father isn’t,” he said softly, “He died a long time ago, after teaching me everything he could about the different lands he’d visited.”

“Was he like you?” she asked. “Did he sell and buy things far and wide?”

“Somewhat, but no, he was an explorer. He travelled to understand the world, to learn about magic and dragons, and who the Ice Dynasty really was. I learnt a lot from him, I don’t think I’d be doing what I do, if it hadn’t been for him.”

“Do you have a mother, too?”

Laughing, he reached out to pat his child on the head, “Of course I do, all children have mothers. However, I don’t know much of her. My father took me away from her when I was four, to travel with him. I don’t remember much about her, except that she sung terribly off tune.”

“Like me!” Rae’s face grinned widely before cutting off with a surprised expression. Her eyes went wide, body going still as the large, heavy sound of the bell rang over the land. A silence fell over the village, before chaos erupted.

“It’s still harvest,” Maurice said, as the villagers began to tears away from the tables, grabbing their children and handing them over to Ben to lead away from the danger. He rose tall to the challenge, as the bell rang loudly, warning them all of the immediate challenge. “There’s only a light guard out there!”

“Then we’ll fight with them,” Sena said. Behind her, the villages lit torches with the winter flame as Maurice watched his oldest child pick up his youngest, and follow Ben towards the riverside.

He could hear many of the children crying, and one loud voice, wailing at the top of their lungs. Shaking, he watched the children leave, not knowing if it was his own crying out for him.

“Maurice, come,” Sena spoke. “We don’t have time.” He felt his wife’s fingers lace in his own, before she lead him through the village, to where the village armoury was; the armoury she stocked and kept. One by one, she handed out weapons to those able to fight, as those whom were too sick or frail were lead to the winter flame.

“Here,” Sena said, handing him a sword. “Try not to drop it.”

Maurice looked to his wife; his tongue felt thick in his mouth, and his limbs were heavy. “What is it?” he asked.

A quake ran through the village, knocking food and wine from the Harvest table. Sena’s face drew tightly, her hand gripping a large great sword as she handed over a shield to her husband. “A mountain troll, probably.”

“They don’t-“

“I _know_ what a mountain trolls does and does not around this village,” Sena said. “Let’s get moving.”

Rochelle’s family stayed by the winter flame as a guard to those who couldn’t fight. He looked to them, their faces all hardened as they stood protectively before the handful of people.

He turned, seeing smoke rise in the air in the direction of the farms. Already, the village had emptied of most its inhabitants. They were out there, fighting the oncoming trouble. He would too.

His legs feeling heavy and unbalanced, like they might collapse at any moment under the weight of his fear. Sena grabbed him, clasping a hand over his shoulder. “Stay close to me,” she told him, a soft smile on her lips before she lead him on the path, leading to where the farms were.

Past the buildings, he could see a tall, large figure. He could see fire and hear the troll’s scream, low and loud, shaking the very mountains he’d come down from.

Most trolls didn’t make it this close to the village. Most trolls were spotted by soldiers and had their path directed away before they could spot the sheep and cattle. This one was too close, too hungry. They’d have to kill him.

As Maurice watched the long, dark hair of his wife’s, swinging with each running step, he realised that people were going to die tonight. The thought terrified him, nearly paralysed him, had he not two children that could also fall into the Mountain Troll’s path, if he didn’t stop it.

Sena stopped before him, her eyes dancing from the scene before them. Rochelle’s family house was damaged, there was a dead cow, lying on the ground, and the fence keeping the rest in the paddock had been broken down, allowing the herd to escape in a frenzy of terror.

Loudly, in the middle of the open road, stood a troll three times the height of Maurice and six times as wide. He was heavily covered in thick tufts of silver and white hair, with grey skin. Watery, blue eyes, were wide open as his mouth peeled wide to let out another yell, his arm hitting one of the villages and knocking him into the air, before landing with a sickening, bone-cracking sound.

“We can’t drive it back,” one of the villages cried out.

Sena appeared to sway in her steps for a moment, before steadying herself, her face hardening. “We can kill it.”

Three villages stood on the side, far enough away to not be hit, as they waved torches of fire, confusing and terrifying the troll away from further entering the village.

“What do we do?” Maurice asked. “Should we-“

“Too many, we’re just easy targets.”

An arrow flew, hitting the troll and splintering, dropping to the ground. Maurice watched as the troll grew angry, the fire confusing him as he went from waving his hands at the villagers in front of him, to –

“ _Move!”_ Sena slammed into him, pushing him out of the way of the troll, before she grabbed her fallen sword and turned, running after the troll.

One of the three soldiers that had been on guard, appeared from the side of the road, in the troll’s path. She ran faster than Sena, and leapt, her sword, long and thin, swiping out and slicing the back of the troll’s ankle.

The troll stumbled, falling, and the villages all run. Maurice too, felt himself swept in the moment, his anger burning inside of him as he ran forth with his sword, towards the fallen troll that was trying to stand.

With many of the villagers, Maurice raised his weapon, driving it down into the creature’s back. He pushed, heaving with all his might, slicing through the layers of skin and muscle, and hitting something hard, before he pulled the weapon back out with all his might, stumbling backwards and into a villager.

The baker steadied him, then patted his shoulder. “Easy there, Maurice.”

Maurice nodded, before watching as troll moved, shuddered, but the soldiers came up with their swords, slicing down the wrists, and across the ankles, and soon, thick, dark red blood, pooled out onto the road. The first soldier, the woman, without speaking, ran towards the bell tower, to signal the troll’s death.

“That was…” Maurice spoke first, breathing heavily, “Is that normal?”

Sena turned to face him, half her clothes covered in the troll’s blood. “No,” she said. “It hasn’t happened for a _very_ long time.”

The baker, Jes, nodded, before turning to many of the other villagers. “Parents should return to await the children. Make sure everyone’s there. The rest will be divided into finding survivors and those who…” he swallowed, “who didn’t make. Some of you will need to dispose of the troll before the flies get to it.”

Sena moved, stepping over to grab Maurice’s hand as he felt the weight of what happen, sink in. It’d been more than just a fight, he realised. He hadn’t even been hurt. he’d been late to the troll. People had died. If he’d been faster, could he have stopped that?

He looked at the villages, realising that a significant amount were missing. He didn’t know anyone particularly well in the village, but he’d spoken with everyone, new them all by name.

Sena’s hand tugged him towards the village, focusing his thoughts as he was lead to the village centre. The bells rang loudly, signalling for the return of the children.

Slowly, he found himself picking up broken plates and fallen cups from the harvest. Helping families to carefully collect their fallen lanterns, and speaking to Rochelle’s family about housing for the night until they could asses the damage of their home.

He’d done all these things before Rochelle asked, “Where are the children?”

And all at once, people began to realise that the bells had rung six times, calling the children home and no one had arrived.

Sena grabbed her sword, halting Maurice had he reached for the sword and shield he’d placed down by a house. “Stay he-“

Maurice stared at her quietly, daring her to stop him. Slowly, she stepped back. “Fine. You, Lea and Daniel, that’s all I’m taking.” Then, taking a deep breath, she boomed, “Everyone else will stay here in case something happens!”

People clamoured around them, complaining but Sena’s eyes stared them down. “Enough, too many and people will stray. I want a small party, if we need more help, we’ll send for it.” As the village calmed down, Sena turned and nodded to the chosen people, and lead them out of the village square, over Troll Bridge, and into the forest.

It was dark, and with the trees clamouring next to each other, even the moonlight struggled to light their way. Lea carried torch lit from the winter flame. It lighted their path enough to see across thick roots and fallen debris.

Only thirty or so feet into the forest, did Maurice first hear a sniffling sound. “Over here!” he said, directing Lea back a few paces, and off the well-walked path. Sitting up against a large bush with pink, thick berries, sat a young boy.

“Bran?” Lea whispered, edging closer. Maurice’s mind fumbled, briefly remembering the recently departed Bran having a grandson after his namesake. “Hey, it’s Lea.”

Bran barely lifted his head, his eyes were dull and heavy, and his face was covered in dirt, streaked with tears. He continued to cry, appearing unaware of them.

Lea moved forward, speaking low and softly to him, but the boy seemed catatonic. “I’ll take him back,” Lea said, lifting the boy up in arms. He didn’t respond, quietly crying, a thin sniffle in his nose. “I’ll follow back when I hand him over, okay?”

Daniel took the torch, and moved to stand before Sena, nodding to her as he moved them back on the path, watching Lea quietly take the young boy to his mother.

Sena’s face appeared stricken when the torchlight hit her, no different to how Daniel or Maurice’s own faces appeared. Quietly, without discussing what had happened, they continued on their path. Maurice’s mind mulled over the possibilities, wandering if something had happened to his children, or had the boy wandered off, lost.

He hoped for the latter.

They walked for what felt like an age in silence, before Sena spoke, “the clearing shouldn’t be much further,” she said. Then, they began to hear the muffled sounds of a baby crying.

They pushed forward, through long grass, and a persistent bush, sliding around trees until, one by one, the three of them came to the clearing. They all stood still, staring in terror as the sight befell them.

Daniel broke free, running and them crumpling to the ground, grabbing at his son. Ben’s eyes stared up at the moonlight blankly unblinking, his face pale and back twisted at an awkward angle. Daniel’s cry broke through the air, snapping Sena and Maurice from their rooted fear.

Four other children also laid similarly, their eyes staring blankly, faces frozen.

Sena and Maurice’s eyes ran over them, one-by-one, lifting their eyes to see a small huddled group of children, holding the youngest of the villagers, before looking at the troll. It was larger than the one they had killed, its face frozen in a scream, it’s ribs split open wide, exposing its lungs.

Maurice walked slowly forward, looking at the small form in front of the troll. A red figure, holding a doll in her grip, but as he moved closer, he saw it was Rae, holding – what made his steps stop – his youngest.

They were covered head-to-toe in blood, and Rae turned, staring at him with her golden eyes.

“I tried to save them,” she whispered.

“Rae,” he whispered. A slice ran from her eye, down, over her mouth and to her chin, “Rae, the bells are ringing.”

“I tried to save them.”

Sena stepped forward, her legs shaking with each footstep. She eased down, then, onto her knees as she looked at her daughter. Maurice watched as a hand rose to touch their daughter. Rae flinched, and the hand fell away.

“Hey, hey, little one,” Sena spoke, “Do you want to hand Rebby over to me?”

“I have to protect them,” Rae said. “But Rebby just ran over to the troll, and –“ she stopped, her eyes welling up with tears. “I tried to protect them all, but Ben got thrown, and he…he was trying to make us run, and Rebby just went to it, and then it yelled and I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to _do!_ ”

“Shh,” Sena whispered, running a hand over Rae’s hair. “Hey, I’m here, father’s here. We’re going to take you home. You’re safe now. You’re safe with us.”

Rae’s eyes squeezed shut as she leant into her mother, Maurice stepped forward then, and took his youngest into his arms, feeling the chest rise and fall. Sena looked to him then. He nodded once, cradling his youngest as Sena helped their eldest to stand.

She rose to her feet, staring blankly and moved to stand next to her father. “ _Mother of All_ ,” Sena whispered, staring in horror at Rae’s back. “Rae, turn around.”

Rae obeyed, turning around to reveal the back of her dress. Beneath the shoulder blades, two large puncture wounds had pierced the layers of skin. Rae’s blood had miraculous clotted the wound, showing only a horrific sight.

“What do we do?” Maurice asked.

“Get help. Get Nikki.”

“But what about Rae?”

Sena swallowed, looking down at her daughter with newfound fear. “The AK Council will execute her.” Her eyes lifted, “She was just trying to protect them.”

“We’ll talk to the villagers. They have a right to know.”

Sena’s hand clutched at her daughter’s shoulder. “Go follow your father,” she whispered. “I’ll try to get Daniel to…” she turned to face the man. Maurice’s eyes followed, his heart sinking. Daniel was still clutching his son, cradling him as if he was only a baby to his chest, whispering over and over _my son, my son, my only son._


End file.
